A Summer in Westchester
by Triggering-Your-Senses
Summary: Aiden Goodwell finds himself "stranded" at Professor X's mansion after his mentor and boyfriend, Erik flees to create his own army of mutants.
1. Chapter 1

He heard muffled noises outside; he'd been here for nearly four months, but he had never left his cell. Erik had called it his 'room,' but Erik hadn't visited him in about a week, so he didn't have to pretend for him.

"Who should tell her?" He heard a familiar voice outside. A man's voice, with an English accent, very strange…Erik had told him that they were in New York, Westchester.

"You should." Another man's voice interjected. "You're the leader, X."

"I must be very…delicate about it, we know her…situation." The Englishman replied. Who was this mysterious 'she?' "What?" This Englishman exclaimed. "What did you just think…Hank!" _Think?_ He knew Hank, the scientist, the one who brought him his meals and recorded his test results. He didn't hear him outside. He hadn't seen him in a while either, for an even longer time than the last time he saw Erik. His meals began appearing in his room when he was asleep or practicing in the training room on the other side of his cell.

"Damnit, Charles, stop reading my mind!" A gruff voice replied. Something about the voice seemed familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

"Say it aloud. Say what you thought aloud."

"I…thought–no, I can't handle this thought-to-speech binary…I said…in my mind…sardonically…" He added. "What if it isn't a woman?" Silence.

"What are you trying to convey, by saying 'what if it isn't a woman,' I saw those feelings in Erik's mi–"

"–Exactly. What if?"

"No. Impossible."

"It's possible." The gruff voice insisted. He paused. "I've met him."

"Hank!" Hank? Why did this man keep on exclaiming the scientist's name? Hank didn't seem to even be there, unless the metal had some way of distorting other people's voices, but it never had distorted Erik's…

"I'm serious. Erik needed help; he was no genius."

Why were they bringing Erik into this? Why were they having this conversation right outside of his cell? Suddenly, it dawned on him. This man was talking about Erik and…no. He looked down at his worn pajamas, where were his clothes? Were they in the laundry? Oh no…

The handle of the door began to move, but then it stopped.

"Wait. He needs time to change." The Englishman said.

"Hey!" He called out and pounded against the steel wall; Erik had told him about the telepath. Erik had also told him about the soundproofed walls, one way and only one way, to bring in outside noise to drown out the never-ending silence. He thought hard –

He knew the others couldn't hear him, but that telepath was one nosy–

"He's a feisty one." The telepath said. "Watch what you say, he can hear us."

"He's a telepath, too?" An unfamiliar voice asked.

"No; Erik built it wrong." Silence followed the remark. "The room, it's not built right." The knob started turning again. "No, he's not ready yet." He found a crumpled up t-shirt and a pair of faded blue jeans and hastily pulled them on. "He thought just because he had the ability to control metal with his mind, he was knowledgeable of the practice of soundproofing." The sound of disdain trickled into his voice. "I mean–" He choked.

"Charles." The gruff voice stopped him. Someone banged on the door a couple of times. "You ready?"

"He is." This X guy said. This pissed him off. "Feisty one, indeed." He turned the knob fully and the door opened.

"Hi." The boy said as he bundled up his pajamas in his arms. He stood up from his bed. "What exactly is going on?" A shocked look painted everyone's faces, but a man in a wheelchair with gelled-back hair rolled forward.

"Very nice…room you have, here." He said, and he finally matched name to face; the man with the English accent was indeed this man.

"Umm…thank you, I guess." He replied.

"What is your name?" At this question, he, who had not seen the outside for four months, squinted his eyes at the bright light that entered his cell and crossed his arms.

"I see, now you're not reading my mind." At this, the Englishman arched his eyebrows and waited a moment before replying.

"It actually is quite impolite." There was a moment of silence between them. He thought maybe the man was talking of the standoffish disposition that he had assumed, but soon realized with his apologetic facial expression that he was speaking of his mind reading. "I am quite sorry, by the way."

"My name's Aiden." He paused, and the small posse outside filtered into the room.

"Well, Aiden, my name is Charles Xavier. It is truly…a pleasure." The last part didn't seem as genuine as the rest. Charles looked him up and looked him down.

"Stop that." Aiden said quietly, Charles acquiesced. He looked around the room, looking for one familiar face, which would either be Hank's or Erik's, hopefully Erik's, but he found neither. "What's going on here?" He started. "I've never had visitors before. Where's Erik?" The question was received by silence. There was too much silence around here.

"Erik isn't…with us…anymore." Charles said. The color drained out of Aiden's face.

"He's, he's–" He stammered.

"Oh, God no, he's not dead." A young ginger-headed man interjected.

"Who are you?" Said Aiden, but then he realized how harsh that sounded when it came out. "I'm sorry, what's your name?"

"M'names's Banshee." Banshee? What kind of name was that?

"We'll get into that later," Charles said.

"Hey! Stop doing that!" He was starting to dislike this telepath.

"I didn't read your thoughts just now. I saw it on your face." Replied Charles.

"Oh." He returned to the main topic. "Where's Erik?"

"He's gone." A man ducked into the room, if you could call him such a word. He was the gruff-voiced character he had heard outside of the door. He was taller than the average man, wider and more brawny, not to mention _blue._ He had blue fur all over his body. He wore a lab coat that seemed a little stretched on his huge body and his hair formed a small crest on his head. He was, to say the least, threatening and impressive. "Jumped ship." He affirmed in his low, rough voice.

"Jumped ship to what?"

"To build his own." Charles said soberly.

"Erik's building a ship?" It took Banshee a few moments to process the exchange.

"Now, you, Aiden," He started, "Erik is not coming back. If you want to go with him, we'd fully understand."

"Well, where is he?" Aiden asked.

"That's the problem." The blue man said.

"We don't exactly know where he is." He added afterwards. "If you want to go with him, you'll have to wait for him." There was a small silence. "To come get you. You'll have to wait for him to come get you."

"Well, I do." Aiden said without hesitation. "I do want to go with him."

"Understandably." Charles added. "But, we'd like to convince you otherwise." He crossed his arms. "And you and I need to dwell on this at some point. Not now, but in the near future. I've been told of your abilities; they're nothing short of marvelous." He didn't know whether to thank him or to be angry with him. "For now, we would like you to train with us."

"You are kidding, right?" A blonde guy chimed in.

"No, I am not, Alexander, he is one of–"

"–You're going to help him–"

"–Us–"

"–Harness the power that he will use against us–"

"–Yes I am, Mr. Summers, because he is of our kind–"

"–No he is not!"

This argument continued in long and graphic sentences, but Banshee beckoned Aiden away. His 'room' was situated on an outside deck of the mansion, which Aiden had only seen once before. All training was done in the huge gaping metal space that was his cell. Erik made it that way so he would never have to go outside.

"His special project," Erik had referred to him as, and later, "all mine."

"It was the first time in four months that Aiden had been outside. He wore no shoes, and Banshee led him to small lake, half in forest, half on the property.

"We've been working on it, just me and a few others, for water training." Banshee took Aiden out to the dock. Aiden sat on the edge and dipped his feet in the water.

"I don't know how to swim." He observed.

"We'll teach you." Banshee said reassuringly and sat next to him. "How old are you?"

"Nineteen. And yourself?" He asked.

"Same." Banshee smiled and they shared a friendly moment. "Aiden?"

"Yeah?"

"I just want you to know something."

"And what is that?"

"I want you to know that Erik isn't a bad guy. Neither is Charles. They just had a disagreement."

"I can't believe Erik left without me, though…" He blurted out, and tossed around some water with his feet.

"He'll come for you. Doesn't he l–"

"I hope so." Aiden said. He thought for a moment. "What exactly is the nature of this disagreement?"

"It's about mutant kind. Charles wants to ally with the humans, Erik doesn't."

"Well, we're humans, aren't we?"

"A subdivision of the race. An offshoot."

"Oh." Said Aiden and shook his head. "And Erik and Charles disagreed so much that they had to part ways?" Banshee nodded. "I can't believe he hadn't told me about any of this." He hung his head down for a moment. "He just told me how the others…the humans, they hated us."

"Not all of them do. Charles…he had a girl." He paused.

"Go on…"

"She was human, and they loved one another, but she wasn't safe."

"Then…?"

"He sent her away." Aiden was silent.

"Do you think we can coexist with the regular humans?"

"Yes. Do you?"

"I…I don't know."

"Well, I guess one of these days you're going to have to decide." Banshee said indifferently. "What is your mutation, anyway?"

"What's yours?" Banshee promptly showed him. The young man opened his mouth, and out of it, a high-pitched yell erupted, shaking the water on the lake in circular patterns. "Wow."

"Now yours."

"Mine is a little…particular. Take some water, cup it in your hands." Banshee seemed a little hesitant. "Go on." He did so. Aiden placed his hand above Banshee's. "Don't breathe in, hold your breath." Banshee nodded. Aiden concentrated, then watched as the water disappeared before their very eyes. Slowly and methodically, he took his other arm and moved it towards the lake. All of a sudden, water fell out of nowhere. "That, is the separation and construction of the basic compound, H2O, dihydrogen monoxide, better known as water. It's quite simple really…I can control oxygen."

* * *

><p>Aiden awoke at some obscene hour of the night with a start. As strange as it seemed, he found it difficult not sleeping in his metal cell. He looked over and saw that his new roommate, Banshee (he had learned that his real name was Sean) was still asleep. He didn't feel like rousing him, so he quietly got up, put on some shoes, and exited the room. About halfway down the hallway, he decided that these shoes weren't suiting his feet, and threw them back down hallway in the general direction of his room. The hallway was rugged, so they made a soft thump when they landed, and didn't appear to wake anyone. After four months of not wearing shoes, his feet had become heavily calloused and he had yet to get used to wearing shoes again.<p>

He had dreamt that Erik had come to get him in his cell, to take him away forever, and that the metal infrastructure began peeling away, blooming like a flower, to reveal the night sky…that was when he woke up.

Not a single light was on in the house, and Aiden found it more than a little difficult to make it outside. He and Banshee's room was somewhere in the western wing of the mansion, and after a compilation of trials and errors, he found his way into the main hall.

He tried to pull the main door open, but it wouldn't budge. He was afraid that Charles had some kind of alarm installed, and if he tried to open the door, he would wake the whole house. He decided to just call it quits and try to find his way back to his room. Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder; he whirled around.

"You should be in bed." A familiar gruff voice said. Even in the dark, Aiden could see the blue figure towering over him.

"Hi." He said, a little freaked out. "You kind of startled me." Aiden let go of the doorknob, which he realized he was still holding. "I couldn't sleep." He admitted.

"It's unsafe to turn off the alarm, but I could take you a separate way." Said the blue man. Aiden nodded.

"Excuse me, but what is your name?" Asked Aiden.

"You know me." Replied the blue man, before walking off in the direction of this alleged separate way. "You do, trust me."

"Wha–" Was all Aiden could manage for the time being, but he followed him. The blue man led him through a series of lower levels that looked like high-class fallout shelters, and eventually, through a small system of catacombs, in which the occasional skeleton was spotted. They were silent for the duration. After about ten minutes in the catacombs, they reached an uphill slant that brought them up to a small clearing in the forest, the hole from which they ascended concealed by a bush. "Is that safe?" Asked Aiden, referring to the hole, which was barely hidden and completely unguarded.

"Not especially, but we plan to install some form of guard soon." Aiden wondered what type, but didn't ask. This whole place just kept getting more and more convoluted. He sighed. "The mansion's two miles north, this way," the blue man pointed, "if you want to walk. However, I'm not permitted to let you walk alone, so I will have to accompany you." Aiden shrugged. He didn't really want to be alone, so he began walking north.

Fifteen minutes into the walk, the denseness of the forest still didn't let up, and Aiden really wished he had brought shoes. As they exited the more dense part of the forest, he looked down to see how filthy his feet were, and cringed. He looked up at the blue man, who was walking beside him. He was glad that he was walking with him and not ahead or behind him; those seemed like something a policeman would do, or a bodyguard, but this seemed more like a friendly walk. Something about the way that the blue man carried himself was quite familiar; he could almost recognize him.

At that moment, a ray of moonlight lit his face. It passed quickly, as they were moving, but afterwards he immediately could place his suspicion.

"Oh my God, Hank–" Aiden covered his mouth with his hand.

"You got me." Hank smiled a little. "It only took you about…" He trailed off, checking his watch. "Twelve hours."

"…What happened?" He asked, and then immediately felt terrible for asking such a rude question. "I'm sorry, it's just…you're different."

"How observant." Hank said and walked ahead. "They call me Beast, now."

"It's fitting." Said Aiden. Back when he lived in his cell, Hank, or as he was often referred to in that time period, Dr. McCoy, was his only real open connection to the outside world. Dr. McCoy brought him the New York Times every morning, along with his breakfast. They would eat breakfast together. They were friends, or so he thought.

"Did you not want me to see you like this?" He asked. At this, Beast nodded. "If it's any consolation, you look really cool." Hank didn't reply, but in the moonlight, Aiden was almost sure that he saw an inkling of a smile on his face.

"I'm glad you think that." He said after awhile.

"How are you?" Aiden replied without delay; he wanted to catch up with his friend.

"Fine." The events outside of his cell's door now made complete sense. It was Hank that revealed Aiden's identity, because Hank was the only other person that had met him. Hank would make up the tests, Erik would conduct them and Hank would record the results. That's how it worked for the majority of the four months.

"How is Raven?" Hank had told him about the girl that he liked, and he wondered if Hank had asked her out in his absence from Aiden's life. To this, Hank didn't reply, which he guessed meant bad news.

They reached the house, and Hank led Aiden back to his room. They awkwardly shook hands and Aiden departed into his room. Aiden only delayed a moment, washing his feet in the bathroom, since they desperately needed washing. Then, he slept; the sun had not even risen yet when he dozed off.

* * *

><p>Aiden slept until Sean's alarm clock rang. He decided then that resistance was futile and got out of bed. Sean was still sprawled out in the twin bed opposite his. He turned off the alarm and decided to let Sean sleep a little more; he'd wake him up after he came back from showering.<p>

When he re-opened the bathroom door after showering, Sean was already up and ready to go. He was sitting on his newly made bed, waiting for him. He already felt really welcome at this place. Erik had told him it was called Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters…would he be a student there from now on? Were there actual classes? All of this he would have to find out.

Sean led him down to breakfast, during which Charles dined with his students. The numbers were sparse, ten or fifteen kids, for a school, but I guess that made it a little more of an intimate teaching experience. Aiden had just graduated high school, and not too far off from the mansion itself, when Erik and Charles had found him through Cerebro; he had spent his nineteenth birthday in his metal cell.

A bell rang, the students scattered and classes began. Beast came up to the table in which Sean and Aiden were sitting, and beckoned him forward.

"I know best of the education you have received as of now, so I will be proctoring most of your lessons." His tone indicated some sort of negative aspect.

"What's the catch?" Asked Aiden.

"Chemistry is the catch." Said Beast. "One thing Erik neglected in your studies was chemistry. Since your ability is almost strictly chemical, we're going have to return to it. In high detail." Aiden moaned sarcastically; it wouldn't be that bad to take chemistry again, it was one of his favorite classes when he was in school, and it would be useful to him. "And class began two minutes ago, so you better get up and follow me, lest you be tardy." Aiden waved goodbye to Sean and walked away with Beast. As he left, he saw a gaze fix on his, and he met the eyes of one Alexander Summers, the guy who had opposed his joining the school the previous day. He looked at him suspiciously, and it reminded Aiden of the true delicacy of his situation.


	2. Chapter 2

Aiden hazily looked down at his notebook; the mansion could get really stuffy on these summer days. He looked up at the once bluish black chalkboard to see it covered with white scribbles; Hank's handwriting was infallibly illegible. He squinted, trying to make sense of it, but that just made the text go out of focus. The way it looked when he squinted almost reminded him of…stars…

* * *

><p>…The first night that they had met, the stars shone brightly through the city lights, and it had been insanely hot and humid. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead and met the cut above his eyebrow, causing him to wince.<p>

"Are you alright?" He asked, and Aiden explained, propping himself up on his elbows. "Oh." He said, fumbling with the bandages that he was wrapping Aiden's bloodied leg with. "I'll work on it after this." He looked at Erik and smiled halfheartedly; it was a little amusing to see him struggle with the bandages; it was obviously his first time.

"It's fine." Aiden replied, pressing his thumb to the cut and trying to put pressure on it without gasping from the pain. Erik looked up at him with a look of pure concern that almost shocked him.

"You'll be alright; the bullet barely grazed your knee." Aiden nodded and smirked when Erik finally managed to tie up the wound neatly. Erik put his hand above his blazer, which lay on the sidewalk beside him, and out of it flew a small metal flask, which went to his hand with the utmost ease. "Drink this, it'll ease the pain." He pressed the flask into Aiden's hand, and he was stunned. What had just happened? Was he hallucinating?

"What is it?" Asked Aiden, curiously.

"Whiskey." Aiden unscrewed the cap and took a long swig; the alcohol stung his throat on the way down. He hardly ever drank, but he figured that if there ever was a good time to start, this was it. He offered Erik his flask back, but to his surprise, Erik took his flask bearing hand and helped him up. His leg was not ready to take the weight of his entire body and almost immediately collapsed under him. However, instead of letting him fall to the ground, Erik caught him and let Aiden steady himself on him. "My car is a little ways north, can you manage?" Aiden nodded, and Erik half-walked, half-carried him to his car…

* * *

><p>"Aiden, can you tell me the basic chemical equation for a combustion reaction?" Asked Hank, tapping a long lupine claw on the chalkboard.<p>

"Uh, w–what?" Aiden squinted for a moment, snapping out of his trance and trying to make sense of what was on the board.

"The basic chemical equation for a combustion reaction." It was hard to not pay attention and not get caught in a class of one. He had forgotten how terrible he had been at chemistry.

"Umm…a hydrocarbon and uh…gaseous oxygen yields carbon dioxide gas and…water." He stuttered out.

"Almost." Hank sighed adjusting his glasses. "Water vapor. Not liquid water." Aiden shook his head.

"Why do I need to know this?" He asked, a little annoyed.

"Aiden, we've gone over this; Charles and I want you to know the true extent of your abilities, and you can do so much more than separating, creating and controlling basic oxygen compounds, Erik told me that when you two first met, you created fire. You excited the oxygen particles so much that they caused a spark, combusting on a flammable surface. We need to figure out how to do this again." An excited tone filled his voice, and it made Aiden feel bad to crush his hopes.

"I haven't done that since Erik and I first met." He said quietly. It had been about a month since he'd first exited his metal cell. It was gone now; Charles salvaged what he could and discarded what he couldn't. "Erik and I tried everything."

"I know!" Said Hank, a fire of passion smoldering in his voice. "But we're not just going to give up, are we?"

"Well, I'm ready to." Said Aiden unhappily. Hank didn't reply; he turned back to the chalkboard, erasing what he previously wrote and drawing the large columns of a chart. He divided up the columns and shaded in places where the information wouldn't be applicable. Aiden exhaled exasperatedly and closed his eyes. The scratching noises of the chalk remained in his ears, and he almost succeeded in tuning them out, but the columns of the chart remained behind his eyes, distorting themselves and rearranging until they almost resembled a cityscape…

* * *

><p>Aiden's cheeks flushed a bright right as Erik set him down in the backseat of his car. Aiden's knee had only permitted him to walk halfway to the car, so Erik had to carry him the rest of the way. This, as any living soul could imagine, was unbearably awkward.<p>

The car was black and shiny and smelled new, and as he sat up, he saw the outline of a crest on the dashboard in the moonlight.

"Whose car is this?" He asked.

"CIA's." Erik said curtly.

"So you're a G-man?" What could the government want him for?

"No. Not necessarily." The car whirred to a start and began moving.

"What do you mean?"

"They're an offshoot."

"Oh." Said Aiden. "And what are you?"

"I'm the one who stopped the bullet from hitting you right above your left eyebrow. Mostly. " Erik said, concentrating on driving. Was the cut on his forehead from the bullet? How did it get to his knee?

"Thanks." Aiden said quietly. "But are you one of them?"

"I am."

"Then why didn't you say 'we'?" Erik did not reply at first, or at all, actually, and something about that made Aiden feel a certain emotional kinship with him. "Because you find it hard to feel like you belong." He thought aloud, and right after he said it, he realized how singularly inappropriate and probing that was, and his hand shot to his mouth, but he couldn't stop talking. "Me, too." He said, still stifling his speech with his hand. They were quiet for a long time, and it was dark, but every time the moonlight caught the hood of the car at just the right angle, Aiden saw Erik's face, distant and pained. "So…what does their offshoot want with me?"…

* * *

><p>"Aiden!" Hank tapped hard on the chalkboard with a ruler. Aiden eyes snapped open. "Fine. I won't get anything else out of you today. You can go." He sighed and began packing his briefcase.<p>

"Hank–I'm sorry–" Aiden started, getting up.

"It's fine. I'm not angry." Hank continued to pack up. "Charles is expecting you in ten minutes, anyway." Aiden packed up his bag and left.

* * *

><p>"So that's what they want me for? Asked Aiden, genuinely enthused.<p>

"You aren't the only one. There are many more." Said Erik.

"And you?"

"And me; as I said, I'm the reason the bullet didn't hit you in the temple." They were silent.

"Thank you, again." The floating flask incident made sense now.

"What are you doing living all alone in the city?" Erik changed the subject.

"What are you doing coming to the rescue of random men?" Aiden changed the subject as well, and Erik laughed wryly. He then explained the concept of Cerebro, and formally introduced himself.

"I don't like it." Said Aiden, and if he could have, he would have gotten up to start walking away. "That's an invasion of my privacy; what if I want to remain hidden?"

"Do you?"

"No, but my point still stands!" He said.

"Understandably." Erik said after a long pause.

Aiden looked down upon New York City's vibrant silhouette, which managed to still stand out against the starry night.

"I'm going to miss the city." He thought aloud.

"Don't let that bother you." Erik said. "One day, this will all belong to us." And even though Aiden knew Erik had not meant them two personally, but the mutant race as a whole, he found a certain comfort in it.

* * *

><p>"Aiden!" Charles exclaimed. Aiden blinked and realized that he was in one of the fallout shelters. "You'll never accomplish anything if you cannot focus!"<p>

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm just not used to these training tactics." Aiden replied, unsure if that was totally an excuse or just partially.

"Well, what tactics can I use to enrich your learning experience?" Charles said, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

"Well," Aiden closed his eyes, thinking of the most effective exercise he and Erik did. "You could start by not yelling." Suddenly, his eyes snapped open. "my…room, was air sealed, almost completely, and by itself not enough air could get in to sustain one person, so, I had to draw oxygen in, dragging all of the other components of air in, periodically. Every couple of hours, Erik could come in and we would empty out the carbon dioxide." He sighed.

"I cannot permit that to happen." Charles said after a ponderous silence.

"Why not?"

"Because that borderlines on human torture, Aiden…" Aiden did not reply, but grabbed his things and retreated to his room. He was done for today; he couldn't focus at all and Charles' refusal to take his input really set him off.

* * *

><p>Aiden had been cemented into his sleep pattern for a good three weeks, but tonight, that metaphorical cement, relatively new and brittle from stress, shattered. He awoke at what he thought was a knock on his door, and his first thought was: "Erik. It's Erik. He's come to take me away."<p>

He jumped out of bed, sprinted towards the door and threw it open: nothing; only the cruel silence of the mansion. He couldn't take it, so he pulled on his shoes and closed the door quietly behind him.

His feet had gotten used to wearing shoes, but the feeling of the rubber against his bare foot felt strange. He half-hoped that he would meet Hank, but he wasn't so lucky; Hank wasn't stalking around the halls tonight.

* * *

><p>On his nineteenth birthday, Erik woke him early and they dined together, he dressed and they began training. They stopped for lunch and again dined together.<p>

This was a strange occurrence; Erik hardly ever dined with Aiden, much less two meals in a day. Erik was looking at him strangely, too! And where was Hank? Hank always dined with him…

"Stand." Erik commanded, and immediately, Aiden stood up. Erik reached into his blazer pocket and took out his flask. He moved Aiden's glass-carrying hand towards him and poured some whiskey into it. He put down his own glass and toasted with the flask itself. "Nineteen years; to many, happy more." They brought the glass and the flask together and they made a satisfying clanking sound. He brought the glass to his lips and his throat again burned a little as the liquor slid down it.

"Erik," Aiden said, "thank you."

"It was the least I could do; it is your birthday." He said and he smiled, and it was the first time Aiden had seen him honestly smile. As disconcerting as this was, Aiden continued.

"Not just for this, but for everything, Erik: thank you." And for a moment, they just looked at one another. Then, in one swift movement, Erik bent down a little and his face met Aiden's, and they kissed. Seconds passed, until Erik pulled away, a confused look painted on his face, and left without a word. He did not return until later that night…

* * *

><p>Aiden shuddered as he recalled the waiting, seemingly endless, until that night. He blinked a few times and realized that he was sitting on the edge of the dock, the one Sean had brought him on his first day out. He shook his head. How did he get here? He had been so distracted all day, lapsing in and out of memories; it was almost as if someone was trying to tap into his memories with Erik….could it have been Charles? No…if it had been him, he wouldn't have gotten so agitated. He sighed, untied his shoes and took them off. He stripped down to his boxers and took the metal flask out of his pants' pocket. He made sure it was sealed tight and pressed it hard into his other hand, just like Erik would've done. He had left it on Aiden's nightstand on the night of his nineteenth birthday.<p>

The flask was no longer filled with whiskey; it was technically illegal for him to drink, anyway, but he wondered if restrictive laws applied to him. To the regular humans, laws of humanity didn't apply to mutants, so why should drinking laws? He sighed. If only whiskey were in there. Instead Erik had filled it with nitrogen gas.

When asked why, Erik replied, "I had a friend once with a very interesting ability, and he told me that pure oxygen gas was poisonous to the lungs." It turned out that air is mainly made not out of oxygen, but of nitrogen. Aiden could only drag so much nitrogen gas down with the oxygen gas under the water, but with the flask to supplement his nitrogen intake, filled to the brim, with almost no free space in it, he could stay much longer.

He dove into the water and perked up a little when he realized it wasn't cold. It was warmer than he expected, and he could appreciate it much more now that Sean had taught him how to swim.

He went under the water until he reached the dusty bottom of the lake. He looked up, to see almost complete blackness except for small patches of moonlight. He had never swum in the dark before; the whole experience was beautiful, but unshakably eerie. He raised his left arm and drew some oxygen down into the lake (rather than resurfacing or depleting the lake water), and supplemented it with some nitrogen; the effect was almost like breathing normally, except a longer process.

He felt a patch of sand beside him be disturbed, and a cloud of sand and mud erupting in the water because of it. Instinctively, he turned around to see the cause, but it hurt his eyes to look through the muck. He closed them, but right before he did, a sparkling shape flashed before them. He shook his head; it must have been a trick of the moonlight.

"It's not." A woman's voice entered his mind. Aiden thought it was a woman, but the voice itself sounded inherently cold and metallic. A harsh grip took hold of his arm and began to pull him to the surface. As much as he tried to kick and struggle, he couldn't bring his body to move. He gasped for air when he finally surfaced.

"What's going on?" He sputtered, and the harsh grip again took hold of him and pulled him onto the dock. He rubbed his eyes and managed to see the sparkling figure above him. His vision finally went into focus. "Whoa–whoa. Put some clothes on; Jesus Christ!"

"That's really what you're concerned about right now?" A woman who appeared to be made entirely out of diamonds asked. She looked at him silently for a moment. "Wow, a true gentleman." She scoffed and gave him a sharp kick in the stomach. He yelled out and tried to get up, but again, he couldn't make his body move.

"What w–were you doing in there?" He managed, gesturing to the lake.

"Looking for you, of course." She said out loud. "Not with my eyes, but with my mind." The words rang in his head. "And now I've found you, Lover Boy. Lucky me." She audibly sighed. "Through your memories, I've identified you…well…and through this," She held up the flask.

"Hey! That's mine!" He grabbed for it, but he couldn't reach it. He hadn't realized that it had ever left his hand.

"Does it have your initials carved into it?" She asked, knowing the answer. The initials carved into the flask were EL, for Erik Lehnsherr. She dropped it to the ground, and as he reached for it, her foot slammed down on it, shattering it into many pieces. She gave him another sharp kick, and he cried out again. "No one's going to hear you, Lover Boy." He raised his arm, but she pressed it down with her foot. "You're defenseless, you have no chance. Give up now." She turned away. "Love really is blind." She sighed, and still not facing him, heeled him in the chest. She knelt down to his level. "Rule number one: never let your guard down." She sighed again, and her diamond form faded. "You really are a pathetic child, aren't you? I should snuff you out right here, end your misery now, but I need you alive. Erik wants you on our team. What a pity." Then an avid smile spread across her lips. "At least I can kill all your little friends."

Her hands flew to her mouth suddenly. It was working. Aiden staggered and propped himself up with his elbows. She was trying to speak, but she couldn't. Aiden spat on the ground, partially because he thought it would look really badass, but partially because he really wanted to get some of this blood out of his mouth. "Rule number one," He whispered, feebly. "Never. Let. Your. Guard. Down." He smiled as best as he could. "Now, do you want me to split each of your oxygen-bearing cells apart, or do you want to get the fuck out of here, wait–" He said. "–I get to choose, don't I?" He staggered upwards into a standing position. "Can't think well when you can't breathe, eh? Can't control my mind…" He took her wrist and led her up to the mansion. She began rasping, but he ignored it. He let small puffs of air into her mouth. "Traitor." She rasped. "Traitor."

* * *

><p>Charles wiped her memories of that night and dropped her unconscious body at a hospital. The next night, they held a celebration of sorts.<p>

If one had asked Aiden what kind of celebration it was, he could not have said. Sean called it a Disaster: Averted party. But Aiden wasn't so sure. What if the diamond woman, Emma, he learned her name was, had told one of her comrades the location? He tossed around the idea in his mind when it hit him like a ton of bricks: Erik knew, too. She didn't have to try to find out their location. They knew. He knew. He could be on his way at this very moment.

He shot up and crossed the room to where Charles was sitting. He bent down and asked if he could see him outside. He nodded and Aiden wheeled him out onto the terrace. He braced himself and asked the question.

"Charles, why do you think they have not attacked yet? Have you learned their location? Are you going on the offensive?" There was a small pause as Charles turned over the questions in his brain. Finally, a reply came.

"Aiden, I will do as much as I can to avert conflict between Erik and myself, as well as our associates." He said politely. "I am glad you used only as much force as was necessary with Emma, because her well-being can be interpreted as a peace-offering of sorts. You practiced great self-control and maturity with no cause to, and for it, I will be forever proud of you." Aiden thanked him, and Charles attempted to pat his back, but failed slightly. He sighed before speaking again. "And, I would like to apologize whole-heartedly for my treatment of you in the fallout shelter." At this, Aiden shook his head.

"No, Charles, there is no need to apologize, I was being too sensitive." He said. "But, in the future, I would appreciate if you would take my suggestions into consideration." He tried to put it as delicately as possible. Charles nodded stoically. Aiden again thanked him and asked if he would like to be wheeled inside, but Charles denied courteously.

"I would like to remain out here for a little longer." He concluded. They both looked out, past the terrace, and into the dark night. Then, Aiden turned away and began walking into the terrace doors, and back into the party. "Aiden," Charles called after him, still facing away. "Are you ready to have that talk I proposed one month ago?" Aiden thought for a long time.

"No," He replied.

"One day soon," Said Charles, and Aiden nodded, even though Charles couldn't see him. Aiden glanced back, into the night, then turned around to reenter the party.

* * *

><p>Aiden looked up at the stars. Even with all the city lights, they managed to break through the oppressive aura of New York at night. He clutched the heavy grocery bag close to his chest, just in case the bottom ripped. In it was a month's worth of salary as a grocery store clerk, and what should last not much than two weeks, he would need to make last more than a month.<p>

"Hey!" He whirled around to see an unfamiliar face.

"Hello." He turned back around and continued walking.

"Can I see what you have in that bag?"

"Nope." Said Aiden plainly. He didn't get a good look at the guy, however, just a glance was enough to see that he was bad news. He picked up his pace.

"Let me reiterate." He heard a metallic noise. He turned around to see that the man was holding a switchblade. "I have a couple of friends around this next corner, so show me what's in the goddamn bag, or you'll regret it." Aiden stopped and handed over the bag. "Good." The man began to rifle through it. Something visceral and completely innate caused Aiden to raise his hands a little into the air. The mugger stepped back and raised his knife, but, all of a sudden, it dropped out of his hand.

One of his hands shot to his throat and his other dug into his pocket and pulled out a revolver. For a few moments, he shakily gesticulated it, before firing a shot. For some reason, the bullet flew straight upwards. Another and another. Three shots missed. In a panicked state, the man continued to pull the trigger to no effect. Aiden was midway through sighing in relief when his leg collapsed under him. The pain hit him shortly after, leaving him gasping for breath and wanting to scream on the side of the road.

He kept himself in a sitting position long enough to see the mugger regain his breath and flee. However, he returned a few moments later with his friends. That was when one of their sweatshirts burst into flames. Then another. And another. This sudden conflagration sent them running like rabid dogs into and endless forest of unsuspecting prey. Aiden could only watch them for a few seconds before the energy exerted from his ability and the pain from his wound became too much, and he lay down in the street.

He heard quick footsteps moments later and instinctively tensed up.

"I wonder who's going to mop this up…"

* * *

><p>Sean popped open a bottle of sparkling cider. It foamed all over him and the rug, but regardless of the mess, he stood up on his chair and held the whole bottle above his head.<p>

"Um…uh…I'd like to make a toast, to the guy who saved all our asses last night." He waved the bottle down to Aiden. There were many cheers and applause. Sean whooped and drank straight from the bottle, followed by a series of groans.

"We all wanted some!" Aiden called out. Sean shrugged his shoulders and took another sip; he wasn't sorry. Aiden shook his head and snatched the bottle from him. He took a sip and passed it onto another person, who passed it on, until the bottle was empty. Even Hank took a sip! It was probably a breeding ground for about a thousand different diseases, but they were feeling young and adventurous. As the drink was being passed, a solemn and solitary figure stood up and quietly exited the room, and the room was enveloped with the same quietness with which he left.

Sean got up to go after him, but Aiden was first, nudging Sean back down and quickly tailing Alex. The room was silent as he left, but soon after he heard a quiet prattle ring out.

"Alex!" He called out, but the blonde man didn't acknowledge him. His brisk walk broke into a run and the chase led them into the fallout shelters and further, into the catacombs. "Alex! Stop right now! Talk to me!" At this, he finally turned around, he was audibly struggling for breath.

"Leave me alone right now." He huffed. "Or…I will use my power on you…and get you to leave me alone. For good."

"Are you crazy? The whole building is on top of this! You'll kill us all!" Aiden yelled out into the darkness.

"Stop it." He said brusquely.

"Stop what?"

"Identifying with us. Stop pretending that you care about any of us." Aiden was dumbstruck. "I see right through your 'nice guy' act, you're playing the victim. You're finding out all of our weaknesses, and when the time is right, you're going to whisper them back to your little boyfriend, and he'll utilize them. Whether you know it or not, you're exploiting us." Aiden opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn't make words drop from his tongue. "And I think you do."

A tear rolled down his cheek and he felt his throat knot up. He started backing away slowly, then turned around and broke into a full run. "You'll never be one of us!" Alex called after him angrily. These words rang in his mind for the whole night, along with Emma Frost's breath-stricken voice repeating the same word, over and over again.

"Traitor, traitor."

* * *

><p>Aiden awoke at the sound of ruffling clothes. He sat up, then grimaced as the slanted wall of his metal cell hit his head with a loud bong. Within the duration of the echoing sound, he remembered what had transpired mere hours ago. He looked around and saw Erik frantically dressing a few feet away. He got up, wrapped in his sheets and went over to him.<p>

"Hi." He said, and Erik acknowledged him with a nod and a salutation.

"Hello."

"Please don't go." Aiden replied, even though the nature of the topic itself had nothing to do with greetings. He wrapped his arms around Erik's shoulders and gave him a sort of backwards hug.

"I have to–" He started, but Aiden was persistent.

"Still, you can stay here, with me–"

"They'll be expecting me at the house." He said concisely. And that was that. There wasn't much Aiden could to protest.

"Oh…okay."

"Goodbye." He began buttoning his shirt, and Aiden let go of him. He started to turn around and go back to bed, when something occurred to him.

"Erik, do you remember the night we first met?" He asked tentatively.

"Yes." Erik said, unsure where this was going.

"And what I said in the car, about not feeling that I belonged?"  
>"Yes." Erik said, his voice dropping to an almost unimaginable hush.<p>

"Well, you make me feel like I belong, okay?" Erik stopped buttoning his shirt and turned around. For a moment they just looked at one another, but soon he took Aiden into his arms and placed a kiss on his forehead. Despite the emotion Aiden thought it would take do such an act, the way Erik did it indicated no emotion at all, just a severe, deep, confusion.

"Goodbye." He said awkwardly, and exited the metal cell, letting the door slam behind him. Aiden sighed, and let the warm summer breeze waft over him for the second the door was open. Aiden went to the door and propped it open with a brick; he didn't feel like having to work for his own survival tonight.


	3. Chapter 3

Aiden furtively opened one of his eyes. The room seemed empty. He sat up and hazily looked around. Through the streams of lackadaisical sunlight slinking through the shutters, he could see that Sean's bed was half-made, as it was every day, since he couldn't properly make it by himself. _It's a typical day, then_. The only true mystery that remained was the location of Sean himself.

He slipped one foot out of his bed, and after carefully untangling the other from his own sheets managed to touch them both against the floor without recoiling from the mid-fall cold. It was early November, and he hadn't attended formal class for about a week. He would sneak out at nights to train by himself, but nothing else. He stood and for a second, ravished the cool hard-wood floor, now having warmed up against his feet. He glanced around in vain for Sean. Had he already gone for breakfast? He turned to Sean's bed again, and saw that his watch was still on his nightstand. He never left the room without it.

He turned around slowly and, as expected, he observed a strip of light under the bathroom door. He quietly tried to sneak back to his bed, but each step he took let out an odious creak. He decided to just take the plunge and jump back onto his bed. He did it successfully with minimal creaking.

"Too late–I've already heard you." Sean said, throwing open the door and scooping Aiden up in his grip.

"No. No!" Aiden protested and tried to struggle as Sean carried him out of the door. Sean had already threatened to drag him out of bed, but he'd never have guessed that it would come down to him _carrying_ him out of the room. Aiden soon gave up struggling and just let out a moan of irritation. After his spat with Alex, he had lost the will to get out of bed and see the people who he would eventually betray–at least that's how Alex had put it. He didn't want to betray them, but somehow it would be inevitable, because Erik was his…something. Lover? Boyfriend? He didn't even know if he should put the prefix ex on either.

Erik's absence had contributed largely to Aiden's absence; he had given up all hopes of his return. Before he had hit this point, he probably would have gone with Erik, but now he wasn't so sure. _But, see?_ He thought. _This is exactly why Alex is right. I'm terrible. I'm a traitor to both sides. Just like Emma said. A traitor._

By the time they reached the dining room, he had burrowed his head into Sean's chest from sheer embarrassment. And it wasn't easy; Sean was kind of scrawny and Aiden could tell he was straining himself right now. Still, Sean placed him gently and kindly into a chair next to Charles. He was such a great guy. Aiden was so glad to have him as a friend. And he was deceptively strong; you would think he would have wilted under a grown man's weight, but he just shook a little. So maybe he wasn't as deceptively strong as he was deceptively not weak. He cracked a smile at himself: the first one all week. He thanked Sean earnestly and greeted awkwardly greeted Charles. For that one moment, he had forgotten what he was. _A traitor, remember?_

"H–how are you doing?" Charles stuttered a little, perhaps at Aiden's own disheveled appearance. He tried to smooth his hair, but ended up just shaking his head and plopping it onto the table. He wasn't ready for this. "I see." Charles said. Out of the corner of his eye, Aiden saw him nod to Sean, a silent thank-you. He couldn't help it, this made him smile again. He raised his head again, looking around. No one seemed perturbed by his reappearance. Actually, everyone seemed relieved. All except one person, who looked like a real recluse. Sitting in the corner by himself, with dark bags under his eyes and blonde hair sticking up in weird places.

"I'm doing alright." Said Aiden, indifferently. "Sorry." He said, but he knew the word wouldn't repair anything. He repeated it anyway. "Sorry."

"There is no need for sorry. Here," Charles said, sliding Aiden a bowl of cereal and a spoon. Aiden dug in thankfully, and was soon close to finished. "I hope you know what this means, though…" At this remark, Aiden almost dropped his spoon.

"What?" He said quietly.

"You are going to have to resume your usual training." Aiden sighed in relief. He thought it was going to be much worse, not even a reproach, but a pink slip of sorts.

"Gladly." Said Aiden. He soon finished his cereal, got up and began walking back to his room. Charles called after him almost immediately; Aiden wondered if he had forgotten something.

"Meet me on the second-lowest fallout shelter in ten minutes." Aiden gave an inquisitive look, but nodded all the same, and walked back to his room, and, for the first time in a while, he was ready to take on the day.

* * *

><p>Aiden tried to shower as fast as he could, but as it is sometimes with showering, with the warm water relaxing your entire body, you feel more compelled to think about life than to shower. Though he wouldn't admit it, in his brief stint of hiding, he only showered sporadically. In hindsight, it was a little gross to think about.<p>

Upon getting out of the shower, he could see that it had done him much good; it took away the matted look of his hair and made him smell considerably better. He looked at himself in the mirror, now fully dressed and with half-combed hair, and was satisfied with his appearance and with the fact that the person in the mirror looked like they hadn't been hiding away for the last week.

_So what if he does hate me? What's the big deal?_ Aiden thought as he gave up combing his hair, propping up the comb in the spot where he had so often seen it propped up, against the mirror. He took a dry hand towel and began drying his hair. _I shouldn't let that get me down!_ He wished he had come to this realization a week earlier. _None of them want me gone, only Alex does. And…_ He struggled with wording this next phrase in a non-profane manner. _…I won't give him the pleasure._ He smiled smugly at the mirror, smoothed down his hair a little and on his way out, he flicked the bathroom light off in one quick, excited movement.

* * *

><p>Aiden sat cross-legged on the concrete floor. His eyes were closed and his hands were resting in fists on his knees. His intake of breath was precise and measured, so he could feel it flowing through his entire body. Feeling air entering and leaving his body helped him remember that he was ready to control it.<p>

Charles had air-sealed the fallout shelters, and the lack of oxygen was profound compared to that of his metal cell. He felt Charles' presence in his mind, and he knew that he was sitting ten feet away from him, in a grey suit, uncomfortably, since he was the only one not sitting on the floor. Aiden pretended that it was just him as he drew the air in, boring tiny cracks in the foundation. _Maybe this isn't so good for the building._

"Psst." Aiden ignored it when someone poked his back. Well, not someone. He knew it was Sean. "Psssssst." Aiden exhaled sharply. "Aide. Aiden."

"Sean," Aiden muttered. "I'm kind of _doing_ something."

"Aiden," He said again, regardless. "I have a question."

"Sean–" He started.

"Please–Aiden," He pleaded, imitating the cry of a small child comically. Aiden stifled a chuckle.

"Shoot." He said. He opened his eyes and turned around, and was a little startled, remembering that all of the other members of the school were there, and that their lives depended on him. "Okay." He said to himself, and remembered to focus a little on the oxygen as well as the question.

"Umm," Sean also looked back at the other individuals, but they were across the room, involved in their own conversations. They trusted him, they… "What does it mean to be gay?" He made a face like he made a joke and was waiting for a laugh.

"W-What?" Aiden stammered and let his concentration falter for a second. He caught himself almost instantly. Sean repeated the question. He was serious. "Well, well…" He exhaled. "It means you like boys." He stammered again. "Well, not you, one. It means _one_ likes boys." Sean looked puzzled.

"Well, doesn't everybody?" Aiden looked at him blankly. "I mean, you're my friend, Charles is my friend–" He saw where this was going.

"No, uh, I mean, romantically and, uh…sexually." He managed. This seemed to shock to Sean.

"Oh. Uh…oh." There was a long silence. Aiden turned back around and began concentrating again on keeping everyone in the room alive. Expel carbon dioxide, bring in oxygen, expel carbon dioxide, bring in oxygen– "That's how things were with you and Erik, right?" Sean asked quietly.

"Yup." He said in response. He turned around and said, "Sean, I'm really sorry I'm not being sociable, but I'm kind of _busy_ right now, okay? If you have any more questions, can you hold them until tonight?" Sean nodded. He felt like an asshole, but he was just going to have to deal with that later, as well.

* * *

><p>"Oh, so…oh. That makes sense." Sean said, crossing his arms and smiling, happy with his new knowledge.<p>

"Any other questions?" They had been sitting on their own respective beds, having Homosexuality 101 for the past two hours. Aiden was tired from training all day, but he figured he would just tape his eyes open until Sean was done being inquisitive. _A person needs to be educated, right?_ And Aiden was more than happy to be the one that educated Sean on the many different sides of human sexuality, albeit the taboo-ness and controversy linked with the topic.

"Hmm…" Sean tried to think of anything else he'd like to ask. "None, I think." Aiden sighed in relief. "–Actually…" Sean smiled devilishly. "Is there anything to eat? I'm starving." Aiden returned the smile and got up wryly.

"I don't know, but the kitchens seem to be infinitely stocked, so let's have a little bit of a, a…"

"A raid. Let's have a kitchen raid." Sean finished the sentence.

"Couldn't have said it better myself. Now, onwards!" He pointed towards the door dramatically, significantly adding to the histrionic gesture. They both tiptoed to the door, knowing completely that that wouldn't lessen the amount of creaking made by their feet, but just for the sake of adventure. It's not like they would get in trouble either. I mean, there wasn't a curfew; people were just expected to sleep. But, they were still kids, even if they were placed in extenuating circumstances. Mischievous, rascally kids.

The hallway was dark and it took their eyes quite a bit of time to adjust, but by the time that they did, they were stealthier than spies in their movements. The kitchen door was closed, and from the bottom, the weak light of a candlestick shone. Aiden looked to Sean cautiously, but Sean was already down looking through the keyhole. He stifled a giggle, arched his back and silently bellowed with laugher. He beckoned Aiden down and surely enough, there was quite a sight to see.

There, sitting at the kitchen table, looking outrageously huge in the tiny seat, in polka-dotted pajama pants and bunny slippers, making a large spoon look like a cigarette in his gigantic clawed hand, was Beast. He was dipping gratuitously into a tub of chocolate ice cream with chocolate chunks and devouring ravenously. He looked worried. Really worried. On the table, there was another spoon, untouched. They watched him for a few seconds, but Aiden couldn't take it anymore. He had no idea what the scope of Hank's abilities were; what if he could hear them…how would he feel? Aiden got up and knocked on the door, slightly.

"Uh, um, come in." They heard some assorted scuffling as they got up, and when they came into the kitchen, Hank's bunny slippers were nowhere to be found. "Hello," He said, trying to sound enthusiastic but failing almost spectacularly. "What are you two doing up?"

"Hungry." Sean replied, not really paying attention. He made his way to the fridge and threw it open. "Heads up." Aiden braced himself, and out of the fridge flew a rotisserie chicken, a block of cheese and a container of mayonnaise. Aiden moved these items to the counter as he caught each individual one. He got some bread and sliced four slices, two for him and two for Sean.

"Hank: do you want a sandwich?" Aiden looked back at Hank; he coyly shook his head. Hank was watching Sean dig through the fridge like a crazy person. Hank was by no means fat, but he was huge compared to everyone else in the mansion. Still, he ate next to nothing compared to Sean. Currently, Sean was admiring a large container of strawberry jam, wondering if it would be good for his sandwich.

Aiden squirted some mayonnaise on his bread and tore off the leg rotisserie chicken. He began to strip the meat off of it, discarding the less desirable pieces into a small pile which he would seal up in a container and hopefully make some broth with later. He cut a slice of cheese, procured some lettuce and a tomato from Sean and began distributing those throughout his sandwich, as well. Sean was still at the fridge when he sat down. Aiden looked at his sandwich in admiration, but abstained for a second, conscious of manners. "Sean: at this rate, you won't eat anything until sunrise–"

Aiden heard the sound of glass-shattering. Instinctively, his eyes went to the point of action and saw glass shattered everywhere amidst strawberry jam. He looked up and saw Sean's face, dumbfounded, staring to the door. Aiden's eyes slowly moved to the door…

"Darling, I've come to collect you."

* * *

><p>If Aiden was not sitting in a chair, he surely would have fallen. He hadn't seen him since late summer.<p>

"E–Erik?" He stuttered, unsure whether to go up and embrace him or not.

"Now, what kind of greeting is that?" Erik held out his arms for a hug, something not just slightly uncharacteristic of him.

"Erik?" For a little while, Aiden was so shocked that he lost control of his hearing. He saw Hank get up and begin to yell, Sean glued straight in his place, and Erik, speaking back out of the side of his mouth. His eyes met Aiden's. He cracked a smile. Aiden grimaced. This wasn't...this couldn't be…

"Raven. This has gone on long enough," Aiden had regained his hearing and now saw Charles rolling into the room, speaking sternly.

"_Ooh._ Party in the kitchen." Erik's voice drawled sarcastically. Then, he changed. He lost a couple of inches, gained certain appendages and turned, quite frankly, blue. What was once Erik stood a girl who couldn't be much older than Aiden himself, a blue girl, with golden eyes and red hair. "Pardon my nakedness, Charles." She said sardonically, the beginning of the sentence caught in the cascading change of voice.

"Raven. Are you here to discuss diplomacy?" Charles said, looking straight into her eyes. A conflicted look fled across her face for a moment.

"It's Mystique." She corrected. "And no. I'm here to pick up the kid." She indicated Aiden with a sweeping hand gesture. At that moment, all eyes in the room went to him. Aiden noticed a couple of seconds too late; he was still processing the whole holy-fuck-she-was-Erik-but-now-she's-someone-else-named-Raven-wait-isn't-Raven-the-girl-that-Hank-told-him-about-or-was-it-someone-else-wait-is-her-name-Mystique-or-Raven-or-Erik -holy-shit-holy-shit-holy-shit affair. Raven grabbed his wrist and was pulling him to the door.

"Raven!" Charles reprimanded. It was the first time Aiden had ever heard him truly raise his voice. It was the kind of tone one would use with an insubordinate little sibling. She stopped.

"It's Mystique!" She snarled, anger from past events welling up in her chest.

"Let him make the choice."

"Are you coming, or not?" She looked at Aiden with significant disdain. She looked back at Charles. "Is this him? Is this my replacement?" Charles didn't answer, but merely shook his head. Erik?/Raven/Mystique turned back to Aiden. "Are you coming, or not?"  
>At that moment, a million different words had a traffic jam in his throat.<p>

"I…I…"


	4. Chapter 4

Author's note: this chapter, along with the next (last) one are dedicated to Tara. 3

* * *

><p>The cold wind nipped Aiden's extremities, despite his best efforts (a hat, boots, gloves and a scarf) as Westchester's "downtown area" came into sight. The ground was a nightmare, especially for Charles' wheels, so walkingrolling to town, though it was short distance, was out of the question. None of the cars Charles owned were large enough to fit all of them in it, so they had decided to charter a bus for the ride into town, and just bear up to the cold weather when they got there.

The bus ride had been tense; after all, it had not been a _friend_ who was driving them, it was a stranger. A human, in the non-mutant sense of the word. And it wasn't that they couldn't trust all humans–they just wanted their security and anonymity intact. Well, that, and the bus not to crash into a tree when, all of a sudden, one kid started screaming and another began shooting discs of fire from his waist. Hank had decided to stay at the mansion, despite Charles' most determined reasoning, and Sean and Alex's attempted draggings.

"The last thing you need is a blue golem blowing your cover in town." He shrugged Alex and Sean off, letting Alex hit the floor from a foot or two higher than Sean. He wasn't even angry; his voice, which was a low growl to begin with, did not contort in any frustration that wasn't linked with having two grown men attempt to abduct him. "And besides," he said, "Someone needs to look after this place."

During the bus ride, they had all remained silent, and kept to themselves, even extroverts like Sean. He sat next to Aiden with hands folded in his lap. This tranquil job put the bus driver in a very good mood, and he told each and every one of them personally how wonderful it was to drive them as left the bus. Most of them (sans Alex) managed to fake a smile as they left it, but none of them were able to maintain it after.

"I wonder how he'd have felt if he knew who we _really _were." Aiden found himself muttering as his boots crunched against the already trampled snow. He was still a little bitter that Hank wasn't able to come, despite his assurances that he was alright and entreatments for him to have a good time. It wasn't fair that Hank couldn't come just because he couldn't look _normal_ in public, just because he couldn't hide his ability like the rest of them–he tried to stifle such thoughts; they weren't fit for the season.

* * *

><p>Charles had brought them all to a local café for hot cocoa, and had dismissed them to do their holiday shopping, on the condition that they'd meet back in the café in about an hour. They all dispersed eagerly and alone, after a solemn warning to be on their guard from Charles, and began entering shops. Aiden was succeeding mostly in stifling any discontentment he was feeling, since the novelty of the whole situation was so striking to him; sure, he had lived in New York City once, but he hadn't been anywhere remotely "downtown" for months! That, on top of the fact that he needed to purchase his Secret Santa gift, motivated him.<p>

The whole gang had decided, even Charles, to put their names into a hat to decide who would get who holiday presents, as they all agreed that everyone getting presents for everybody was a bit excessive. Money was tight for most of them (except Charles, of course), but that was okay, since they didn't really _need_ money at the school, as strange as that sounded. Charles had gone the distance and funded them completely, and they all were grateful, but something like Secret Santa required money. So, Charles gave them all a "holiday stipend", as he had put it, to spend, with only one requirement attached to it: _part _of it had to go to their Secret Santa present. Aiden didn't know how Hank would manage to get his present, or if that was even considered at the time.

He went from shop to shop, wondering what he would get Sean. He had been quite relieved when he had drawn his name from the hat, as he had no idea what he would have gotten for Charles or Hank, let alone _Alex_–_not fit for the season, Aide, not fit for the season_. He tried to push it out of his mind. With Christmas, and furthermore, New Years coming, he had resolved to think less negatively, at least when it was practical to, and worrying about what would have happened if he had drawn Alex's name from the hat was not under the label of "positive". Things were still terse between them, but he had to get a present for Sean, and he could push anything else as far out of his mind as he needed to. Today was meant to be about Sean, or at least getting a gift for him.

The problem was, he didn't know what to get. Sean seemed like a really contented person: he dressed himself well, needed nothing to augment his ability that wasn't provided by the school, and was just all around happy. The only thing he could think of getting him was food, but he worried whatever he could get would perish by Christmas, or worse, someone, Sean especially, would find it. As far as Aiden knew, there was only that one fridge in the kitchen in the entire mansion, and not only was it communal, but Sean stopped by it whatever chance he got.

Aiden shuddered, remembering the sound of shattering glass as that jar of jam hit the floor, falling from Sean's hand as Erik presented himself in the hallway. The thing was, it wasn't even _really _Erik. It was a girl named Raven, or Mystique, as she liked to call herself, and she was a shapeshifter. She had come to "retrieve" Aiden, as she had said, and as much as Aiden wanted to say yes, he found himself saying the opposite. Huffing, she had vanished into a puff of red smoke after a mysterious man of the same color had advanced out of the darkness. Sean had told him later that the man's name was Azazel, and he was a teleporter.

All of Erik's friends thus far had treated him so badly, between verbally and physically attacking him and just deceiving him, and that wasn't the kind of thing persuaded him to join their side. If Erik cared about him, wouldn't he have came and got him himself? Aiden knew that was demanding a lot, but it only felt right to wonder about it; Erik should have looked out for him more in this whole situation, or at least sent nicer "friends" to pick him up. He sighed. He was planning to tell Charles on Christmas that he was going to stay, even though he wasn't one hundred percent sure about it–at least the people at his academy treated him like a person–most did, that is. He was very nervous about it, and Charles' intimidating nature didn't help–

His eyes fell upon a book, bound in tan leather. Unconsciously, he began to stroke the cover. Catching himself, he began to leaf through it, and was surprised to find it empty. It was a notebook–in the place of words were lines.

"Ya like it?" The gap-toothed shopkeeper said, smiling and stroking his beard. "That's hand-bound, you know. Built-in space to hold your pen, too."

"Wow." Aiden said, picking it up. "How much?" The shop-keeper told him the price; it was just about the entirety of his "holiday stipend", but it had to be bought. Sean had many things: a hungry stomach, imagination and sense of humor, all bottomless, but one thing he did not have was organization. Or, the opportunity to have it, the means to write it all down. He reached for the money in his pocket.

* * *

><p>On Christmas day, they were all up bright and early, and had breakfast in the dining hall. Aiden was pretty sure everyone had taken a crack at getting their way into the living room, where the Christmas tree was. He knew that he and Sean had, with very little success: the door was locked, just as Charles had left it the previous night. He had made them all bring their presents to leave under the tree before telling them that he was going to lock the door.<p>

Breakfast was special: blueberry pancakes. They were delicious, and the only thing that puzzled Aiden was where they came from. They certainly weren't store bought, and he couldn't quite imagine Charles waking up early and laboring over the stove so that they could all have a good breakfast. Hank soon fessed up, and despite several sardonic laughs from Alex, everyone thanked him.

"Well, everyone," Charles said, as the eating began to wind down, "Shall we retire to the living room?" He was met with yearning nods, and only one person disagreed with the scheme: Sean, who was hoping to get at least two more pancakes. After several exclamations from the group, Sean decided to have his second breakfast later, and everyone began to make their way to the living room, Charles at the front, the only one with a key. Tired of waiting, Sean began to push him, speeding up the process significantly.

Before long, they were all in the living room, reclining in couches, armchairs or on the floor; it didn't matter as long as they were near the tree. It rose above all of them, even Hank, twinkling as if it were aware of all the good cheer it was bringing. Under the tree were five presents, one for everyone who wanted to participate in the gift exchange. At the very right, wrapped in polka-dotted paper was the one Aiden had bought, the paper wrinkled slightly from being hidden under his bed.

"Let's start…on the right, then." Charles said. "Whoever gets the present will give theirs, next." He rolled up to the tree, and, picking up Aiden's parcel, checked the card. "It says it's for you, Sean." Sean shot up from the floor, clambering to Charles, whom he snatched the present from.

"Um–sorry." he said after it was safely in his grasp.

"It's quite alright–" But the end of Charles' sentence was drowned out by the tearing of paper, and the revelation of the notebook. The first thing he noticed was the leather, then the built-in pen compartment.

"This is–_wow_," he said, "Who got me this?" After a moment, Aiden stood. "Wow, thank you!"

"You're welcome," Aiden assured him. "Now you finally have some place specifically for quirky sandwich recipes, or your notes on homosexuality or whatever–" He felt Sean tackle him in a hug, and reciprocated. "I figured it's also kind of a present for Hank, Charles…all the instructors, really; keeps space in your school notebook for your notes." Charles gave an approving nod, Hank smiled.

"Sean, would you like to give your present, now?" Charles began to ask, but Sean was already advancing to the tree, and he picked up a package wrapped in brown packing paper and bright red ribbons. He brought it to Charles and pressed it into his hands, simpering.

"You know it." he said quietly. Charles cut the ribbon and systematically began to unwrap the present. The whole audience was on the edge of their seats, wondering what Sean could _possibly_ have gotten Charles for Christmas, and perhaps Charles knew this, as his hands trembled with urgency, but this may have just been childish excitement that he was unable to repress. His brow furrowed as he began to see what was underneath the paper. No one could take it anymore; they all just got up and outright looked, then, beholding a pair of Groucho glasses, new and in the box.

At this point, Sean was the only one laughing, but surely enough, Charles began to laugh, too. It was a controlled, nervous laughter, at first, but as others began to join in, it lost its tame and restrained nature. When asked for an explanation, Sean merely said, "Dude, you need to lighten up." This sent another wave of laughter through the audience when it was discovered that Charles had gotten Alex a pair of silver cufflinks. "See?" Sean said, tilting his head and raising his eyebrows.

After Alex thanked Charles for his present, it was time for him to give his own. The list of people was becoming smaller and smaller, and though Aiden momentarily feared that Alex had _him_, he was relieved, even if momentarily, when Alex presented a gift to Hank. Bemused, but good-natured, Hank smiled and thanked him, beginning to unwrap the present. If the others around had thought Charles' present opening was methodical, they now saw how mistaken they were. Hank took the tape off of the hastily wrapped present first, and, setting the brown box underneath the paper aside. He folded the paper until it looked as good as new, better than it had when it was wrapped, in fact. Only then did he turn to the box and open it. A shifty eyebrow twitch was what first notified Aiden that something was wrong. He lifted an extra large apron, lacey apron from the box.

"Very funny, Alexander," he said quietly, in a tone more threatening than anything else. Aiden almost winced; it looked as if a fight was about to start. Apparently, he wasn't the only one who thought so; he thought he saw Sean tense up next to him, and was one hundred percent sure that Hank's hands were normally not balled up in fists. But, instead of taking things too far, Hank folded the apron and put it beside the wrapping paper. "Thank you." he said brusquely. "Who's next?" After a moment of tense silence, Charles told him that it was his turn to give Aiden a present, as he was the only person left who hadn't received one. Hank simply nodded, advancing to the tree. He picked up his present and went to the couch, where Aiden sat. "May I speak with you privately?" Aiden acquiesced. When they were outside of the room, Aiden asked Hank quietly if he was okay. "Oh, me?" he asked. "I'm fine. I'll be fine." His tone was getting less assured with every sentence he uttered. "That chump couldn't mess with me if he tried."

He offered Aiden his present: a box smaller than his hand, wrapped in green paper. Aiden tried to unwrap it in an orderly fashion, but gave up, and began ripping at the paper. He tucked the wrapping's remains into his pocket and opened the gray box that it had concealed.

"I know it isn't much, and it's not even finished, but I thought you would value it–" Hank began during the whole unwrapping process, but was cut off by a gasp and a hug. In Aiden's hand was, welded together masterfully, leaving only fine lines where the metal had been torn apart, the flask that had once held whiskey and nitrogen gas. Hank held Aiden tightly, glad his present was so well-received.

"Thank you so much." Aiden said, and though he was trying to hide it, he was beginning to tear up. He looked down at the flask; it was still missing a rather large shard on the front side, but he had thought it was beyond repair after Emma had smashed it with her diamond foot.

"I'm sorry it's not full–I couldn't find that last damned piece–I can make a piece to complete it, but I was going to ask you first–" This time, it was Hank who gasped. Out of his pocket, Aiden produced a shard of metal on which the initials EL were carved in script letters, and inserted it into the hole in the flask. It fit perfectly, and wanted nothing but to be welded into the overall structure.

"I would really appreciate it if you'd weld this in." Aiden said quietly, barely able to contain his tears. He hugged Hank again. "Thank you so much. Merry Christmas–" He retreated, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand and cutting off the end of his sentence.

* * *

><p>That night, after the Christmas festivities were over, and Sean was in a food coma on the couch, Aiden crept away to Charles' office. They had many things to speak of, after all.<p> 


	5. Chapter 5

The clock struck ten in the mansion's living room, causing its inhabitants to jump in a mixture of excitement, fear and anticipation. It was New Year's Eve; 1963 would soon be upon them, and with January 1st, a whole new "semester" of classes. Charles wasn't kidding around when he said that he wanted to get their training started nice and early in the new year; he had given them a holiday break starting a few days before Christmas, but that was the extent to which his kindness reached. They were not there for their own leisure, and that was something that they should have, above all other things, remembered.

However, they did not let tomorrow's hardships burden them, and drank eggnog (and champagne for those who were daring and clever enough to steal it) as if the day that followed would be another of relaxation and revelry. It was in this position, half-frozen in a sort of vignette, that Aiden watched his friends through the crack between the door and the wall: Hank, Sean and Alex drank, ate, and were merry, as the saying goes. After dinner, they had all retired to the living room; Aiden and Charles would be the last to join them. Aiden felt a pat on his back: Charles was urging him to go into the room. He sighed, braced himself and did so.

As he entered, he was met with a mixture of woops of goodwill and grumbles of dissatisfaction; he ignored the latter. This disparity in emotion did not last long, for his own demeanor was enough to alert even the densest of the mutants that something was wrong. A hush fell over them, and Aiden stood at the head of the carpet, looking down at his socks and feeling the urge to run.

"Go on," said Charles, patting him again, "Tell them." Aiden nodded, and licked his lips.

"Guys–" he began. "I'm–I'm leaving–tomorrow." What was hush became silence, and all eyes that hadn't already fell on him, did. Sean rose, dumbstruck, and although Aiden knew he was trying to speak, no words came. "I just," he continued, "I feel like I'm too involved to choose either one side." He heard a sharp exhalation from across the room which made his gaze rise from his feet to Alex, who seemed a bit more lively than the rest. "So I'm choosing neither." Despite his dissuasion to, initially, he found himself beginning to soliloquize: "If you guys ever need me, I'll be there–it's just that you don't, and I feel like I would just be a liability, just building more resentment between these two teams. I feel like the sooner I step out, the sooner this can all reach a resolution." Without meaning to, he found himself bowing his head a little more. "And that should be our first goal, as mutants: to mend any rifts within our own people. We stand more of a chance winning the humans' respect and comradeship if we stand together." He felt his feet beginning to step back, and his arm graze the doorframe. "I'm sorry if I'm hurting anyone in doing this, but it's what I need to do." With that, he left the room, intending to give a little time for his words to sink in.

* * *

><p>When he returned fifteen minutes later, in hopes that whatever emotion he might have evoked in his audience had cooled, he found that that was not the case. Things were largely as he had left them: Hank and Charles engaged in a quiet, but passionate argument, Alex seeming like he had no cares in the world and Sean wandering around the room as if he were a child, unsure of what to do. Aiden was glad that he had returned, despite how uncomfortable it was making him, as long as he was able to break up the sorry scene, especially on Sean's part. Half stammering, he proposed a late-night walkroll on the grounds. No sooner had he proposed than he found that he had no takers: Alex ignored him, Charles explained to him that his conversation with Hank could not wait, and Sean shook his head hollowly.

"Oh–um, alright," he said, backing away just as he had done before, "I guess I'll go alone then. I'll be back in half an hour." He left the room again, feeling neither bitter, nor better about the situation as a whole. He needed some time to think, anyway, and someone else's being there would merely have impeded him. No one should have been alone on the holidays, but sometimes, life took precedence over them. As he put on his winter jacket and hat, he found himself murmuring the maxim his father had said to him time and time again: "If you're alone on New Years…"

* * *

><p>The weather was pleasant to watch from his bedroom window, but not so much to experience, alone on the grounds: it was snowing, and the winter wind hurt as much as any kick Emma Frost had ever given him, but he was trying to remedy that. He built a small fire after drying a bundle of twigs with his ability, lighting them with a match he had brought from the kitchen. He sat on a log and warmed his hands, breathing carefully and sparingly, if only out of instinct.<p>

However long he had spent alone already had done little to no help in clearing his mind: he was still as ambivalent to leave as he was to stay. The difference between his situation six months ago, and at that very moment, was that he was now willing to acknowledge that it was a better thing to leave. Knowing, but not wanting to act on such a conviction. _Great_. What use would be of?

He got up, almost wanting to stray from his small fire, seeking something to distract his eyes, and hopefully his mind. Just then, his foot was snagged on a broken branch, an offshoot of the log he was sitting on. He felt himself beginning to fall toward the fire, and instinctively snuffed it. He sighed as he caught himself; he and Erik had done tests with this: putting out fires in hopes that he would be one day able to ignite them. He guessed he was somewhat thankful for it; it _had_ saved him from being burned a number of times. He felt the cold seeping back into his fingers, and, sighing again, dug in his pocket for another match. _No luck_.

_If only I wasn't such a klutz. A klutz, and…a fuck-up_. Despite his best efforts, he found himself jabbing the air in his frustration, at no person in particular. If the gang were there, he supposed that some would have conjectured he was doing it at the universe, while others would have thought he was doing them at himself. Both would be simultaneously right and wrong. It was only when dancing flames of yellow and orange caught his eye that he snapped out of it. He looked down at the reignited fire, wondering if he was insane for ever supposing it had gone out. It was burning as well as ever…_could it have been_…? He looked down at his own hands, and saw them unchanged. He examined himself, and found his body completely unburned. He had definitely put out the fire…he began to acknowledge that he definitely was the one who had reignited it.

Could it be? He wanted to scream in exultation, annoyance and relief. He had been trying for so long, and he had finally achieved it–but under the wrong circumstances. Charles had told him _never_ to channel frustration into his ability; it gave it a source of power that was unnatural, that bordered on evil. It seemed that was exactly what he had done. _Fuck-up, fuck-up…_ He closed his eyes, trying vaguely to relieve his agitation. What were the scents that always calmed his mind? He always seemed to forget when he was angry…after a few moments of deliberation, he began to attempt trial-and-error tests: cut grass, sea water (_no, no…that won't do…_), freshly baked cookies, pumpkin pie (_still nothing…_), a very particular aftershave…to an extent, the smell of whiskey…

He pushed such thoughts out of his mind and opened his eyes. He couldn't think about that. He couldn't rely on _that_ to make him feel better in a fix. Erik was gone. Still, he couldn't deny how calm he was feeling now, almost reminiscent, but not melancholy. He drew his right hand forward and, clenching his fingers into a fist, extinguished the fire. While he did so, he tried to remain aware of the sensation it gave him, and, running it in reverse in his mind…

The charred twigs flared up again.

He stepped back in shock, but quickly advanced forward, bringing his hands closer to the fire. Using enough air to distance his flesh from it, he took a burning ember and held it in his hands. He felt the fire in a way he had never felt it before: it was tame, controllable. He felt almost as if he could–

"How long have you been able to do that?" came a voice from behind him. He spun around, certain that he knew that voice: it was Erik. Actually Erik. The facsimiles he had seen in his mind and in the flesh paled in comparison. He felt his back stiffen and his jaw tense, all of the warmth draining out of his body, though the fire was still ignited on his palm. Erik advanced forward, coming a comfortable distance from him. Only hesitating slightly, he took his arm, and began to wrap it around Aiden's waist. Aiden felt his body cave into Erik's, but first, he felt the fire go out in his hand. Erik looked down at the extinguished ember. "I'll guess not long, then." He tightened his grip around his waist. Aiden felt his jaw relax and his arms fall to his side. After a moment of concupiscent indecision, Aiden jerked away, attempted to extricate himself.

"Why didn't you come back for me?" were the first words that found their way out of his mouth. He felt two belligerent forces within himself: one desirous of affection, attention, another craving for validation, meaning, security.

"I sent for you." Erik observed, an aggressive tone entering his voice. He advanced toward Aiden again, and, trying to take his waist in his arms once more, was pushed away.

"Your thugs–they meant nothing to me." Aiden said, making eye contact with him. "They viewed me as more of a threat than an ally. How could I respond to that?"

"I had important things to do," Erik said, not so much a response as it was an excuse. He didn't come forward this time, but observed him from a distance.

"So important that you couldn't spare a ten minute trip with your teleporting friend?" was the response that Aiden found himself saying. He felt the urge to cover his mouth; he hadn't intended to say that, although it had been on his mind ever since Sean had told him about Azazel. Erik stood there, frozen for a moment. A tense stare-down started, lasting for several seconds, before Erik broke eye contact, drawing his arm forward. Aiden felt the metal clips on his jacket carry him, the tips of his boots just dragging against the ground. He jerked his legs, but he couldn't find a way to free himself. In all of the times that he had trained with Erik, Erik had never used his ability on him. Whether this was a kindness or a precaution, he supposed he'd never know, but he felt the latter more as he found himself unable to combat his ability in the slightest. As the force lifting Aiden's jacket-buckles dropped them, Aiden, too, felt himself drop. He prepared himself for the jolt of hitting the ground, but it never came; with a jerking motion, Erik suspended him barely in the air, so their faces were perfectly level.

"You don't understand the situation I'm in." Erik said in a peremptory tone, drawing Aiden's face nearer to his. As much as Aiden wanted to look away, be away, all he could see were Erik's eyes, two empty, bottomless chasms, and his own reflected in them, rife with despair. Things remained that way for several seconds, until an explosion of light erupted from beneath them, sending both of them flying.

After Aiden hit the ground, he regained his footing quickly, and looked for Erik in a daze of confusion. He saw a ball of fire, trees, snow, but no Erik…_wait_. He watched the fire more closely. It moved in an unnatural, almost human way. He gasped as he saw Erik shrug off his flaming jacket._ He's unharmed, thank goodness–_ He stopped himself. _He's unharmed…did I?...will he?_ In a split-second decision, he impelled his legs to drive him forward.

"I don't understand the situation you're in." he found yelling out. "And I never will. I don't agree with your cause, Erik–"

"That's not my name–" he heard Erik cry out like a wounded animal.

"I don't agree that mutants cannot live with humans." he persisted. "Because I think they can, and, and…" he trailed off. "Until you can acknowledge that, I want you to leave this place, leave me, and _never_ come back."

The next cluster of minutes were surreal. Erik retreated into the forest, vanishing into a puff of red smoke, and Aiden, realizing his jacket was on fire, as well, extinguished it. He had endured a few minor burns, but was okay, and, putting out all the fires around him, decided it would be best to return to the mansion.

* * *

><p>Aiden found himself in the living room not long after. He had discreetly disposed of his singed jacket, borrowing another from the closet, deciding that no one needed to know about what had passed between he and Erik in the forest. It would cause unnecessary alarm and perhaps stir up feelings even more than they already were; he wouldn't tell them of the confrontation for the same the reason which he was leaving: in hopes of a sooner resolution. He decided instead to show them the fruits of this meeting, a much more positive thing.<p>

"I've got something to show you." he said eagerly, producing a twig from his pocket. Everyone's eyes were on him now, still somber, but interested. As much as he wanted to see their reactions directly as he showed them the new extension of his ability, he chose to concentrate on the twig instead, for their safety. Furrowing his brow, and exerting a considerable amount of effort, he was able to willingly ignite it and then extinguish the fire with a small movement of his other hand. Silence fell over the room, completely this time, but almost directly after, applause broke loose.

Though this was a measly consolation for the damper he was putting on the night, it managed to revive their spirits enough so that they could enjoy a sedate, tranquil New Years eve. He was able to join them now, too, without feeling like he was imposing on a funeral. He sat on the couch, in between Sean and Hank, talking about whatever came to mind.

It was much closer to midnight, now, and though they had all made a point of staying up till at least that time, there were a few casualties along the way. Hank had been on the verge dozing off for a little less than an hour, and had finally given way to sleep, leaving Aiden, Sean and Alex awake, Charles already having gone to bed. Though Hank had not previously contributed much to the conversation, he had been the backbone holding it up, and after he ceded to sleepiness, the conversation seemed to die down.

"So," Sean said, smacking his lips, and asking again, "What's…up?"

"Nothing much." Aiden said. "My answer to that question hasn't changed in the past few minutes." Sean gave a wry chuckle and rubbed his eyes.

"God, it's pathetic. I feel so sleepy."

"Me, too." Aiden said. "But I resolved to make it and I'm not backing down."

"Exactly." Sean said. "No quitters in this mansion." He was silent for a few moments. When he spoke again, Aiden hadn't realized that he had closed his eyes, and opened them directly. "Aiden?" Aiden blinked a few times, just to secure his wakefulness.

"Y-yes?" he said after a moment.

"I'm going to miss you a lot." Aiden felt tears fill his eyes.

"I'm–going to miss you too, Sean." he managed, and unsure of what to do next, hugged Sean tightly. Out of all of them, he would perhaps miss Sean the most; they had become nothing short of best friends during his stay in the mansion. Just then, they heard the big mantel-clock strike twelve, heralding the coming of a new year.

* * *

><p>Aiden couldn't remember when or if he had fallen asleep. All that he knew was that it was morning now, and it was time for him to go. He had packed up his few belongings immediately after telling Charles of his decision, and all that was left was for him to do was to go into town and board a train. Charles had offered to call for a taxi, but he had declined such an offer, not wanting to make his friends exert more effort than they already had. He sat in silence in the front room. Everybody was around him: Charles, Hank, Sean, even Alex, all there to say their goodbyes.<p>

"It's been fun." Sean said, smiling weakly, and hugging him again. They had said all they needed to say to one another the previous night in their room, and there was no point in rehashing such a subject. He hugged Sean back, making an earnest effort not to cry again, and soon he felt a cluster of bodies gathering around him: it was the rest of them, sans Alex, joining the hug. This awkward man-hug persisted for several seconds.

With that done, there was only one thing left to do. Having put his jacket on, he picked up his light suitcase and opened the door. He was walking across the snow-covered lawn with his eyes forward, not wanting to look back upon what he was losing, when he heard the crunches of another set of footsteps. They were at a running pace, and upon his turning around, he saw Alex running toward him, just wearing a t-shirt, jeans, and no socks.

"Listen–" he said. "I'm sorry–okay?" He looked at Aiden, expecting a response. "Okay?" Aiden saw his own arm reach out and punch Alex in the shoulder.

"You don't need to be." he said, smiling, and walked on.

* * *

><p>Aiden watched the girl wander aimlessly through the town square; she had brown hair and blue eyes and looked nothing short of colossally lost. He walked towards her, his own train not coming for another half an hour.<p>

"Excuse me, Miss," he said, "Do you need directions?" She jumped at this.

"Yes," she said, "Yes, um, I do, actually…" she laughed nervously. "Have you ever heard of a Charles Xavier?" Aiden's blood froze at this.

"Are you–" he began.

"What's it to you?" she asked defensively.

"I am, too." he admitted. She smiled, nodding. He turned her in the right direction. "Continue down this road for about a mile, then it tapers off into a path, but if you follow it, and turn right at the fork, you'll get there in no time." She smiled and thanked him.

"What's your name?" she asked, beginning to walk away, and looking much more confident.

"Aiden." he said. "Yours?"

"Charlotte."

"Well, Charlotte," he said, "You're going to love it there."


End file.
